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(For 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
The world's good word is better than a song)
Who has not learn'd, m fresh fturgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!

When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,


Curs'd be thy neighbours, thy truftees, thyself,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame,
Think how posterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that fature times may tell
Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny well.


P Right, cries his Lordship, for a rogue in need “ To have a taste, is insolence indeed :

"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state,

"My wealth unwieldy, 9 and my heap too great." Then, like the Sun, let Bounty spread her ray,

And fhine that fuperfluity away.

Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy ftore,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?

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"Iratum patruum, vicinos, te tibi iniquum,
Et fruftra mortis cupidum, cum deerit egenti

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P Jure, inquit, Traufius iftis

Jugatur verbis: ego vectigalia magna,
Divitiasque habeo tribus amplas regibus.


Quod fuperat, non eft melius quo infumere poffis?
Cur eget indignus quifquam, te divite? quare
'Templa ruunt antiqui Deûm ? cur improbe, carae
Non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo?
Uni nimirum tibi recte femper erunt res?

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Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?

Make Keys, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall: 120
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,
As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.


• Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind. And who ftands fafeft? tell me, is it he That fpreads and fwells in puff'd Profperity, Or bleft with little, whofe preventing care In peace provides fit arms against a war?

Thus BETHEL fpoke, who always fpeaks his thought,

And always thinks the very thing he ought:
His equal mind I copy what I can,


And as I love, would imitate the Man.

In South-fea days not happier, when furmis'd

The Lord of thousands, than if now w Excis'd;

In forest planted by a Father's hand,


Than in five acres now of rented land.


O magnus pofthac inimicis rifus! uterne
**Ad cafus dubios fidet fibi certius? hic, qui
Pluribus affuêrit mentem corpufque fuperbum;
An qui contentus parvo metuenfque futuri,

In pace, ut fapiens, aptarit idonea bello?


Quo magis his credas: puer hunc ego parvus Ofellum Integris opibus novi non latius ufum,

Quam nunc w accifis. Videas, metato in agello,
Cum pecore et gnatis, fortem mercede colonum,
Non ego, narrantem, temere edi luce profesta

Content with little I can piddle here

On brocoli and mutton, round the year;
But y ancient friends (though poor, or out of play)
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.

'Tis true, no z Turbots dignify my boards,


But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:
To Hounslow-heath I point, and Banfted-down,
Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own:
a From yon old walnut-tree a fhower fhall fall;
And grapes, long-lingering on my only wall,
And figs from ftandard and efpalier join;


Then b chearful healths (your Mistress shall have place);

The devil is in you if you cannot dine:

And, what's more rare, a Poet fhall fay Grace.


Fortune not much of humbling me can boast:

Though double tax'd, how little have I lost!


Quidquam, praeter olus fumofae cum pede pernae.. Ac mihi feu y longum poft tempus venerat hofpes, Sive operum vacuo gratus conviva per imbrem Vicinus; bene erat, non pifcibus urbe petitis,


Sed pullo atque hoedo: tum a penfilis uva fecundas
Et nux ornabat menfas, cum duplice ficu.
Poft hoc ludus erat b cuppa potare magistra:
Ac venerata Ceres, ita culmo furgeret alto,
Explicuit vino contractae feria frontis.

Saeviat atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus! Quantum hinc imminuet? quanto aut ego parcius, aut


My Life's amufements have been juft the fame,
Before, and after Standing Armies came.


My lands are fold, my father's houfe is gone;
I'll hire another's; is not that my own,


And yours, my friends? through whofe free opening gate None comes too early, none departs too late;

(For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best,

Welcome the coming, fpeed the going guest.)
"Pray heaven it laft! (cries Swift) as you go on;
"I wish to God this houfe had been your own:

Pity! to build, without a fon or wife;
Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life."
Well, if the ufe be mine, can it concern one,
Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon?
What's Property? dear Swift! you fee it alter
From you to me, from me to Peter Walter;
Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's share;
Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;


Or in pure f equity (the cafe not clear)

The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year:
At beft, it falls to fome & ungracious fon,
Who cries, "My father's damn'd, and all 's





own." Shades,


O pueri, nituiftis, ut huc novus incola venit?
Nam propriae telluris herum natura neque illum,
Nec me, nec quemquam ftatuit. nos expulit ille;
Illum aut nequities aut f vafri infcitia juris,
Poftremum expellet certe & vivacior heres.
ager Umbreni fub nomine, nuper Ofelli
Dictus erat; nulli proprius; fed cedit in ufum

Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,
Become the portion of a booby Lord;

And Hemfley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scrivener, or a City Knight.

i Let lands and houfes have what lords they will,
Let Us be fix'd, and our own masters still.

Nunc mihi, nunc alii. i quocirca vivite fortes,
Fortiaque adverfis opponite pectora rebus.




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